


Checkmate

by Anlashok



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Lies, Mystery, dark themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-23 09:37:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anlashok/pseuds/Anlashok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The train crashed. The surviving tributes are stranded in a devastated part of District 3. What happened? Why don't things add up? Are they truly alone? Is there a hidden message in those vivid dreams? 17yo Mags volunteered to harness the strength and fighting spirit of the districts, but now, her mind is reeling. A mystery novel with more than just lives at stake. Mags' story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. War child

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: everything you recognize from Suzanne Collins' work is her property. I own a computer and my imagination.

The breeze carried Esperanza's whimpers through the open window.

Mags could almost taste the fear of the reapings in the tangy summer air.

Her lips twitched bereft of any trace of mockery. Fear of Reaping Day, the luxury of those born in peacetime.

Fear was when your fingers had grown so stiff and raw to hold a needle, unable to mend the tears in your clothes and shield yourself from the cold's bite on your reddened skin. Fear was when you ate little despite your ravenous hunger because growing out of your shoes in the wilderness would mean certain infection and death.

Fear was for war and dark times.

Mags remembered true fear, the one that clutched at your insides and never let go.

In the deep of winter, as the tides of the rebellion had turned in the Capitol's favor, hovercrafts had poured chemicals in the ocean and burned the beaches, cutting off Four's supplies. The flames had swallowed the seas like rabid demons and had long outlasted the Dark Days.

Freshly eight, Mags Peregrine had been scouting with her father and his brother's family in a sturdy boat when the ocean took fire. They had crashed on rocky shallows, blessedly unhurt but stranded on the side of the poisoned water, with precious few supplies and arid ridges as their only shelter. They'd learned to swim fast, to dismiss the scorch of acid burning their skins, and weave dried seaweed bags so tight they would capture rainwater. Medicine had healed her raw skin and wrinkled fingers and time slowly repaired her lustrous dark amber hair, but the sea had marked her. The taste of salt never left her mouth and no amount of restful nights erased the red hue to her green-flecked eyes.

There had been no adults and children in their harsh little world. Survival did not give the luxury of such distinctions. Eleven full moons had separated their shipwrecking from the day Mags had spotted a fishing boat heading for their barren island. Tightly holding her cousin's hand, Mags hadn't immediately recognized the beautiful woman on board nor the toddler squealing in childish delight as waves splashed on her healthy round cheeks.

Angelites Peregrine had become Angelites Abalone and, just as a helpless Mags had watched unmoving as the waves took her father from her, she accepted that the rebellion had failed and had stolen her last name. The war had taught her to accept many things. She had her mother back, and the tiny little sister she'd left behind had grinned despite how awful Mags had to have looked. Mags finally was safe, she was a child again. Nothing else had truly mattered then. The ragged trio of survivors had smiled as they stepped off the dreary rocks that had claimed the lives of four of their kin.

Her uncle had left with her cousin the year before, leaving the house next to theirs empty. They had not been born in District Four but in One. Rebels to the core, the Peregrines had not hesitated to destroy all their earthly possessions to spring a trap on One's High Military Command. The rest of the rebellion had been one long guerilla. Mags had been all of six when they'd hit the roads. She was a child of war.

The muscled man had fought and bled for District One. The nightmare of those ten months spent stranded, who had claimed both his wife and two daughters, had filled him with an unreasoned hate of the ocean. No news of the two men had reached Four yet. Mags fiercely hoped her kin had found something to rekindle the fire that had once burned bright in their eyes.

Mags remembered the grand warehouse where the tapestries narrating epic tales were hand-woven with gold and silver threads. Their family had been the keepers of legends as well as artisans of great renown. She held those memories dear, but Four, her mother's District, now owned her soul. The child had taken the hardships that had broken the adults in stride for she had known no other world. The sea had forged her and would never relinquish her hold.

Another badly stifled sob caused Mags to push the covers away and reach for the door. The rebellion was over and the war child had become Big Sis.

Caramel-eyed Esperanza was afraid of empty threats and shadows. She was a child of peacetime. Mags' heart melted whenever she witnessed the sweet girl's frailty. She was perpetually awed by the existence of something so delicate. The seventeen year old never cried or shivered in fear; whatever trials she faced at home were nothing compared to surviving the roads and the poisoned sea.

Esperanza rubbed her eyes when Mags entered her room.

"You always smile when I'm crying, Big Sis. You think I'm silly." The twelve year old said, annoyance creeping into her hushed voice.

Mags' endeared smile bloomed into a full grin. She sat on the hard bed and gently wrapped her arms around the younger girl. "I hope you'll always have the luxury to cry at such things, Angel. You're exhausted, sleep."

"But this could be my last night here. I may have forgotten important things to say, or to do!" Esperanza said, her insistent voice heavy with fatigue.

"We wouldn't have let you. Why do you think we keep you so close and are so nosy about your friends? We protect each other."

"Do you think Dad would think I'm weak?" Esperanza mumbled, more curious than afraid. Mags and Angelites had freely talked about the man once the youngest Abalone was old enough to wonder. She had been too little to remember their mourning, too little to ever know true darkness.

"He'd be thrilled to see you like this. People who feel for small things are the happiest ones of them all."

"Reaping's not small, Big Sis..."

The child's protests died as she finally succumbed to sleep's call. Mags lingered, affectionately brushing her sister's long raven locks out of her face. Esperanza was so magnificently healthy in her innocence. Having never known true hunger or hardship, she would be shapely and fresh-faced whereas Mags was wiry and tanned, with fading pale thin scars riddling her every limb. The war child wasn't envious: Mags had been forced to sacrifice her carefreeness at an age at which most children struggled to write their names, but it had given her perspective. Nothing could taint the beauty of the days spend in the cocooning ambient of her wonderful family. Not even the Games, although they occupied her thoughts for very different reasons.

She was unsurprised to find her mother waiting on her bed. The woman only feigned to sleep deeply to humor her daughter on her night escapades. Mags loved her all the more for it.

"You will volunteer." It was neither a question nor a reproach. Mags had made no secret of her recent training.

Her mother's words would have seemed unintelligible to any eavesdropper. Spanish, like any language other than English, had been outlawed long ago by the Capitol, for their overlords did not tolerate what they could not control. Speaking it was a crime punishable by death, just like traveling from District to District had become after the end of the rebellion. But even generations after the Cataclysm, few people from Four had forgotten their roots and whispers of old Mexico still echoed in the privacy of walled homes. It was the language of defiance and hope, the language that reminded Mags that the earth she was standing on had witnessed more years of freedom and peace than of Capitol dominion. The seventeen year old had inherited her father's hair and clear eyes but she owed a stubborn womanliness which had bloomed despite poor nutrition to her mother's genes. Even in District One, people had whispered of the beauty of Four's curvaceous women.

Mags nodded, sitting next to the older woman and inhaling her soothing perfume. The words of District One's first victor had stirred something deep in her. The lethal Vicuña Chrysaor had been a predator among condemned chickens and called herself a Career. Pride instead of terror had lit her fiery blue eyes as the Capitol proclaimed her the winner of the seventh Hunger Games. Vicuña had saluted the cameras where most other victors had wept in bitter relief.

The muscled blonde had changed the Games in a bigger way than any could have predicted. She had shown the Capitol that the tributes could be interesting and had been the first to receive medicine for her wounds in the arena. Instead of a walk of shame to the tower where they were granted a mockery of a chance at training, the tributes of the eighth Games had been paraded in front of the Capitol in great chariots and interviews had been organized to give them a chance to shine. Stylists had been hired for the interviews, 'sponsoring' had instantly became a fashion and the tributes had swiftly learned to lie to curry favor. Those Games had been the biggest blow to morale since the end of the rebellion: the beastly Capitol invention had just become institutionalized. A Games-centered culture was appearing. Haunting whispers traveled the districts, carried by the very people who had bled for freedom during the rebellion, whispers that all their sacrifices had been for naught. The seventeen year old boiled in rage at the mere thought. She had to silence those whispers.

"I've survived more terrible odds." Mags said. "District Four needs a victor, not to condone the Games in any way but to give the children hope. Vicuña, no matter her ruthlessness and misguided fascination with the Capitol, is right. We should train. We shouldn't let the Capitol make us feel weak and, when the time comes, hundreds of trained citizens, young and old, will know what to do to claim their freedom."

"Vicuña wants children to make their lives about the Games. Those Careers," Angelites spat, "would forget all their parents have taught them, all we have fought for."

"Then I will make sure the children who train here do it in a way that makes them strong and weather life without breaking. There will be three glory-seeking idiots and foolish rebels for each true tribute, but it won't matter, Mum. It's the ones who will remain unseen by the Capitol, the trained ones who will have never taken part of the Games, those will make the Capitol rue the day they unofficially gave us leave to bear weapons again."

"Tridents and nets against automatics?"

Mags shook her head slightly. "Really, Mother, who cares if it's knives or grenades? Training is about discipline, about resistance and courage. It's about making you a fighter instead of a bitter and broken coward who dreams of ancient times."

"Mags, you may very well lose. And where would that leave us? Your confidence is a marvel, but please don't turn it into your greatest flaw."

The young woman could see her mother was struggling to keep anger out of her tone. She swallowed, feeling the familiar scorch of salt in her perpetually raw throat. It only strengthened her resolve. Her family had sacrificed so much; Mags could never accept defeat.

"We live for the District's freedom; we die for the District's freedom." She recited, a burning flame in her green eyes. "The fight isn't over. I will live to see a second rebellion. I will win the Ninth Hunger Games."

Angelites' hands were crushing her daughter's, similar passion lighting her features, but her brown eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I suspect you will. I would have made the same choice. We cannot give up, not ever. I will make sure Esperanza doesn't feel betrayed." The woman chuckled. "She'll probably have planned an outrageously ostentatious welcoming party by tomorrow night."

Mags kissed the older woman's tanned cheek. Her mother's selflessness was the one thing that made Mags feel small and frail. She would never fail her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter to a brand new fic that will revolutionize your conception of the Games.
> 
> This is my take on Mags, I believe she should be very tough and that her childhood during the rebellion should not be dismissed. Mags is not only victor material but very 'durable' victor material xD. She will be more adult than a teen who grew in peacetime and relative comfort. Her reasons for volunteering are the ones of a rebel forced to work within the Capitol's rules, not born from dreams of glory. She has her own flaws and insecurities and those will appear later.
> 
> Discrepancies with canon on the pre-Games are intentional. The Capitol doesn't treat tributes as well during the train-rides/Capitol part as it does in Katniss' time. The tributes aren't 'stars' yet, this isn't a grandiose show (although it's becoming one as the years pass). They're seen as the offspring of the people who killed the relatives Capitol citizen lost during the Dark Days. The majority of the Capitol wants them dead even more than they want the entertainment.
> 
> On a side note, updates will come at least twice a week and I finish all my stories.^^
> 
> Please kudo, favorite, comment^^


	2. Stranded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: violence and death. One of the longest chapters of this fic.
> 
> I am using aimmyarrowshigh's Panem map as a reference, google it if you are curious. The train crashed around modern day's Colorado Springs. If I write a geographical aberration that can't even be explained by centuries of cataclysms, tell me, I'll try to correct them.^^

Mags' eyelids fluttered open. She rubbed her temples, feeling as if she had spent hours deep underwater. When had she dozed off? She sighed, feeling foolish at the though she'd be immune to the emotional aftershock of the reapings. There was no turning back now. Her district partner, Delphin Vega, was next to the window, lazily propped on two chairs. The empty dishes had been cleared. Only a jug of water remained on the spotless tablecloth. Mags reattached her golden-brown hair back and smoothed her fresh-smelling azure dress. She felt quite satiated; surprised the Capitol had served them such a frugal but decent meal. She sat back in the old but comfortable armchair, deciding resting was the best initiative she could take before reaching the Capitol.

"Escort's gone?" the eighteen year old volunteer muttered with a yawn. "Did he say anything helpful to you?"

Mags' lips twitched sardonically at the black-haired teen's hopeful expression. "You wish."

The train gave a violent shake. The young woman stumbled.

A metallic groan assaulted her ears. Her hands fastened painfully on the armrest as she lurched forward with momentum.

She snapped her head towards the window. Her mouth froze in a silent scream.

The rear of train twisted upon itself, the wheels over a foot above the rails. With a horrible crunching sound, the last three wagons broke off. The now loose tenth wagon sailed towards the two frozen tributes at blinding speed.

She heard Delphin scream as the world exploded. A wall of air flattened her in her armchair, slamming it against the train wall. Blind from dust and debris, Mags struggled to get some air, her lungs wracked by desperate shallow coughs.

Her world upturned again. Her tearing eyes widened in terror as the heavy table groaned and started sliding towards her. The armchair she was clutching toppled backwards and pinned her to the wall as their wagon collapsed on the side. The wall buckled, metal panes groaning and windows shattering as it crashed against something hard.

Finally the curled up girl regained a sense of space, gasping in the stifling heat. Burning tablecloth was almost touching her dress. She gingerly climbed on the armchair which had saved her life. Fire was beginning to eat at its fringes. Her heart hammering, she violently pushed the flaming table away and forced herself to stop and listen to any signal her body was sending her. Just scrapes and bruises. Her eyes hardened. She had to move.

She focused on her feet to avoid cutting herself on the shattered window before stepping down on the steeply tilted wagon floor. The wagon was devastated, the windows looked like the only way out. But they were now at her shoulder level and shards of jagged glass remained all around the edges. Mags made to grab a chair before realizing that would mean walking over the burning curtains.

"Move, Delphin." She said, sparing her disoriented district partner an urgent glance. The prospect suffocating to death and charred to a crisp when a window was a mere five yards away felt as lame as it was terrifying.

"Someone alive here?" a girl's voice called from the outside.

"District Four, there's two of us! We can both move." Mags replied, rolling up her ash and dust covered sleeves. She was now glad she had picked a long and practical dress; she feared she wouldn't quickly get a change.

"Lucky," the voice muttered, "Ten's wagon's pulp and Five's is little better. Stay back from the window on your left." She said more loudly.

Mags coughed, curling up in a fetal position as the girl outside pounded at the glass with something heavy. She licked her fingertips, tasting bitter ash, to soothe some of the burning.

"Take the curtain rod lying over there. Use it to keep your balance until I can grab you."

Mags stood back up, seeing a hand slam filthy cushions on the remaining glass shards around the window pane.

"How much does frigging fire proof material cost?" Delphin grunted, kicking at a half-charred cushion in anger.

A wiry arm fastened itself around Mags as she struggled to push herself out. A lean girl with short dark brown hair gifted her with a small smile. Her amber dress was a mess. She stood nearly a head shorter than Mags and would have been rather unremarkable if it was not for the agile way she then helped Delphin out.

"I'm Fife Chican." The girl said. She was as tense as a fisherman caught in a storm but kept her tone surprisingly calm. "The only tribute from Nine now…. My mentor must have escaped from the other side."

They were standing on a thin space between the two crashed wagons. She realized what Fife had meant by 'pulp' when she saw the wagon attached to hers. Ten's wagon had slammed into it and all but cut it in half. She looked away, brought back to another time.

"But Mum, how are we going to go to Four if we blow up all the trains?"

"We'll have to walk, Princess. The Capitol controls the trains on this railway. Those people wanted to go burn District Four."

"So we didn't let them," the six year old said with great satisfaction. "I don't mind walking. We'll win, won't we?"

"Yes, Mags, we will."

But when? Mags forced her attention back on the boyish tribute from Nine.

"One of Five's is still alive," Fife said, her black eyes darting from left to right. "I saw someone crawl under their wagon. I don't think they have a mentor."

"They don't. I'm Mags Abalone, thank you. Let's move before the two wagons crash on us."

Fife blinked rapidly. "Yeah, that…" she muttered, a flash of horror crossing her face.

Mags straightened, a sense of urgency dispelling the last remains of the sluggishness that had invaded her body. She seemed the less affected of the three, which meant she had to be responsible for them. Delphin was blowing on his burns with a lost expression. Mags shoved him in the right direction. "Move, Delphin!"

For someone who had ostentatiously trained, believing that granted him special status, and volunteered for the chance of recovering the wealth his, hardly poor, family had lost during the rebellion, Mags found him rather disappointing in a crisis. At least he wasn't screaming and thrashing.

Her ringing ears soon informed her that some were not as silent. She ground her teeth in helpless rage as she forced herself not to take too large strides. Her heels were sensible but hardly adapted to walk on gravel. Especially ones riddled with cutting debris. She greedily gulped a mouthful of air when cool wind finally caressed their faces.

A pair of blood-stained avoxes was pulling the train driver out the crushed locomotive. Fife swiftly averted her body was mangled beyond recognition. She didn't need to turn to know Delphin's stomach had rebelled. Mags' eyes narrowed in hate at the sight of the red uniforms. Avoxes were one of the more recent abominable crimes the Capitol would have to answer for.

"Your partner won't die, let's get fresh air," a harassed-sounding Fife said.

The girl seemed on the verge of shock, Mags almost didn't dare to breathe in fear of having the other break down.

Fife's black eyes flickered to hers. "You've seen death like this before."

It wasn't a question. The shorter tribute seemed about her age, Mags wondered if she too had actively participated in the rebellion. She just nodded.

The three wagons that had been yanked away from the whole had toppled over, almost twenty yards from the rails. Two particularly miserable-looking tributes were dragging a black-skinned boy out of the wreck, his leg was at an odd angle.

"They don't dally." Fife muttered.

Mags followed her gaze. Two boys with makeshift bags were already disappearing in the distance, looking relatively unscathed. Mags suspected others would be soon following them.

An explosion made Mags throw herself to the floor. As soon as she dared open her eyes, she caught herself staring back in horror at the train. If there had been anything left of wagon Ten, there was nothing left now. Mags struck the ground in fury, a familiar and best forgotten feeling of powerlessness rising in her.

Fife was biting her clenched hand, tears streaming down her dirty cheeks. "What now?" she whimpered, looking lost. "This shouldn't have happened."

Mags could only nod.

Only wagons One and Two were still upright although Two's windows were shattered and One's had rolled over the wrecked locomotive.

The girl from Four counted a dozen survivors, including a handful of avoxes, but while couldn't see on the other side of the train, she could hear voices.

"We should go with them." A green-looking Delphin said without waiting for an answer.

Mags turned to follow him and stopped dead. An inexplicable yet intense dislike spiked through her at the sight of group of tributes Delphin was heading for. The blonde girl in the luxurious red dress especially made her hair rise on end.

"Stay." Fife muttered. "They look like volunteers."

Mags bristled.

The shorter girl eyed her suspiciously. "Well, maybe you have reasons. But I'm not following you over there if you go," she said.

"Hey, there's Vicuña!" a tall boy shouted. Maybe it was his stern suit, or just his bearing, but Mags was certain he and the muscular redhead by his side were from Two.

The two girls broke into a run, heading for the other side of the wreckage. As some of the dust settled, Mags noticed a hovercraft hovering over where the One mentor had to be, another was already leaving. Mags wondered if the surviving mentors and escorts had gotten on it. The avoxes started running towards the carrier. Vicuña laughed harshly as one of the tributes made a move to follow.

The young woman's voice carried over the noise. "You sabotage the train and expect to get away with it? Find your own way to the Capitol, now. Head north-east. You should glimpse it in a few days if you make haste. Maybe then we'll take pity on you. Except the two hooligans from Six, obviously."

"You can't!" A youthful curly-haired boy shouted in despair.

"We're supposed to go the Capitol! To fight!" The boy from Two echoed, looking outraged.

The hovercrafts were deaf to their pleas as they took off and sped east.

A snarl ripped the air as people soon identified the tributes from Six. "You!"

A polished male voice made Mags' start. "Their arms…."

She tore her eyes away from the departing carriers and the now cursing blonde fury and found herself facing a fit eighteen year old who, despite the dust on his well-tailored suit, had a striking air of nobility to him. His chestnut hair fell elegantly around his handsome face and his dark brown eyes had a distant alertness to them. He looked peculiarly unruffled by the day's events, as if he'd just set foot on the scene.

"Constantine Aquila, at your service," he said, inclining his head fractionally, "but I fear they're more interesting than I am."

Mags arched her eyebrows at the amused undertones to his voice. She had met her share of confident and flirtatious young men, but never had she expected one to gently tease her in a situation like this.

Sheer surprise seemed to have dissipated the fog in her mind. She turned her eyes back at where the aristocratic boy had been gesturing.

The couple of young-looking tributes had grease up to their shoulders. Oil grease.

Mags stared, torn between admiration and fierce sadness. There was something beautiful about sheer defiance and the casualties had been headed for slaughter anyway, but she feared it would only remain an isolated act of bravery. If the Games weren't enough, a derailed train would hardly rouse the Districts out of their stupor. Nevertheless, her heart warmed at the knowledge people still cared deeply about not letting the Capitol get its way.

"No way…." Fife muttered, clutching her head in extreme confusion.

The blonde in the red dress brandished a piece of debris like a rod as she advanced on the two shocked-looking tributes from Six. Delphin and the couple from Two soon started running after her.

"You blithering idiots!" The blonde screamed.

"I wish a hovercraft blows up on those monsters' bloody city!" the girl from Six spat, trembling from head to toe. She was a tiny thing who'd obviously skipped too many meals.

A sickening crush of metal against bone struck the air. The girl felt to the floor, her screams splitting the sickly-warm air like shards of glass. A second strike left her limp before the muscular redhead could yank the crazed attacker back.

"I didn't do anything, Man. I really didn't!" the dead girl's district partner wailed, edging back. "I don't know what happened. You got to believe me!"

"Blew up by itself did it?" The district Two boy sneered, shaking him forcefully.

"It wasn't me!"

"A coward to boot," he spat.

The redhead had wrestled the weapon out of the blonde's grasp and now was staring in horror at her District partner. "Jason, don't!"

Mags's knees gave away when the hulking tribute snapped the boy's neck and tossed him aside like a rag doll.

"Come on, Styx! He was being annoyingly loud. It's not like he'd have stood a chance in the arena."

She didn't hear what the irate Styx said next.

A strong arm steadied her.

A thin sneer twisted Constantine's face. He looked personally offended. "At least my District has no monopoly on murderous imbeciles…" he muttered.

Mags swallowed painfully and averted her eyes. Fife was staring away from the action, her hands over her ears. The short-haired girl looked down when she realized Mags was watching her and tried to regain a semblance of dignity. Mags felt burning shame sear through her veins. At least Fife had been honest: the brunette had known she wouldn't act so she had shielded herself from the horrid action. Mags couldn't believe she had watched two murders without so much as shouting at them to stop.

She had been a child during the rebellion. Being silent and unmoving was what her parents had taught her to do and what had saved her life more than once. The war child had grown but it seemed her reflexes hadn't evolved. She had thought herself a soldier but had just idly watched two helpless teenagers be murdered. Her insides clenched painfully as she wondered for the first time if she truly had the strength to return home. The young woman envied Fife for what the other girl had not seen.

"Enough," Constantine said, "as killing them would be hypocritical, I suggest we find what is salvageable and start walking east."

"Going south-west would be childish, you think?" Mags whispered, unable to tear her gaze from the two corpses. The red-haired Styx had thrown a tattered curtain over them but their limp bodies were etched in Mags' memory.

"We shouldn't go on the train," she added, "what if it blows up on us?"

"Well, if that fire spreads to the leaking engine there…." Fife said in hushed tones, pointing to the half-crushed locomotive.

Before Mags thought to stop him, Constantine purposefully strode towards one of the large debris and wrapped a stone in a burning piece of curtain. She watched in disbelief as he hit the spilled fuel with perfect aim.

"Down!" Fife exclaimed.

Mags barely had the time to fall to her knees. A cacophony of screams rose all around her. The explosion was deafening. The whole wagon was lifted off the ground as the train carcass groaned and twisted on itself, crushing the few remaining intact wagons.

"Now we know there will be no more explosions, the supply wagon seems intact." A disheveled Constantine said, briskly walking up to it without waiting their leave.

"He's insane." Mags said, still under shock. There could have still been trapped people under there! She was astonished to see none of the locomotive's pieces had landed on someone's head.

Fife chuckled weakly. "He's walking very fast. I think he realized it was a bit careless."

A bit.

Mags shut her eyes for a few seconds, hoping to dispel the horrible clamor in her ears. She decided analyzing the other's motives could only endanger her sanity. Sometimes, there was no rhyme or reason to be found in a crisis.

"Let's see what's in that thirteenth wagon." She said in stronger tones. "The food and drinks have to be stockpiled somewhere."

They were indeed, although the commotion had made a mess of everything. Bags, various weapons and supplies as well as spare covers and avox uniforms, and even a damaged closet full of boots. Mags gingerly stepped inside, afraid to step on a corpse. When she saw none, she began to sort out the food, trying to see what they could keep.

Soon the others joined them. There was enough none of the surviving tributes had to fight, but Mags still hurried, uncomfortable at being so close to the two murderers. Her hands shook in anger and disgust.

"Get warm clothes and a pike, please," she stiffly told Constantine.

Why had they needed all of this to be in the train? Mags wondered as she saw Fife come back with a full bag and plastic water bottles.

"Hold this." Fife said, before putting on a pair of red trousers and unabashedly removing her ruined dress to do the slip on the top. "Now I just need to find a way to make this less… shockingly red."

Mags smiled at the other's lively tone, relieved her own dress had survived the crash. The mere idea of donning an avox uniform made her skin crawl. Her eyes fell back to the three loaded backpacks.

The supplies, spare towels and cleaning gloves, and even the medicine the brunette had discretely showed her made sense, but not the weapons or even the backpacks.

"The thirteenth wagon attached itself after Two." Constantine answered as she voiced her confusion. He eyed the sturdy rubber boots with a resigned expression before removing his own scratched dress shoes and putting the protective wear on. "Vicuña hinted that some of the Capitol's preparations were last minute. Apparently expenses for the Games are incredible."

Mags almost snickered at the idea of the Capitol bankrupting itself with the Hunger Games. All trace of humor swiftly fled when she realized Vicuña had made the President a huge favor by encouraging wealthy Capitol citizen to pay outrageous sums to give their favorite tribute a crust of bread.

The boy from One seemed set on not leaving her side. Mags didn't dare ask why, feeling his company could make the difference between her survival and a long lingering death in what was, if her memory hadn't failed her, southern District Three.

They were as loaded as they dared. Mags hadn't found ropes and didn't bother asking the boy from Two to share what he had found in the small kitchen, especially matches. Fife muttered something about having taken the emergency torches before gesturing they leave.

Mags' eyes fell on a soft-looking girl with a big gash on her leg who was pouring water on her burned hand. The child would need the medicine Fife had secretly hoarded yet Mags knew she had to establish quick priorities if she wanted to survive. She turned away, feeling terrible, but her step was sure and her jaw set. She had known volunteering would have involved dismissing the other tribute's lives as necessary sacrifices. This was not the situation she had had in mind but it unfortunately changed little. She hoped she had not overestimated her own strength.

"Aquila, don't be ridiculous. Come with us."

A bored-looking Constantine lazily turned towards the voice. He seemed to hesitate before looking away, as if he had lost interest. "I have other plans. Try not to forsake all honor, Mirabelle."

The squinty-eyed blonde chuckled in disbelief, apparently more upset by his words than by the fact she had just killed a barely pubescent girl. "I was trying to be loyal, you pompous fool. Fine, stay all on your own."

The muscled Styx had turned to face them, surprise and shock freezing her features in a mask of stone.

Mags felt a blend of pity and anger ripple through her at the sight. That expression reminded her of hardened veterans, but the tribute before her was too young to have had her emotions sucked from her soul by the violence bred by grand causes.

Careers. Vicuña's damning legacy.

Mags had to survive. Four couldn't become populated by oblivious killing machines shaped to quench the Capitol's thirst for inhuman entertainment. Not in her homeland, not ever.

A foreign male voice caused her to break eye contact.

"We'll come with you."

"And who are you?" Mirabelle scornfully demanded, throwing a thin blanket over her torn scarlet dress.

"Robin and I are from Seven. You know, the only District with two surviving victors."

A ring of metal cut the blonde's reply short.

"They're in." Styx said, sword in hand, daring anyone to challenge her. Her district partner was eying the redhead with obvious apprehension. Come on! He was being annoyingly loud. Mags' lips thinned in a hard line. Was Delphin really going to stay with those Capitol-worshiping murderers?

A hand lightly tugged at Mag's arm. Fife gestured at the aristocratic boy. Constantine was already walking away.

Mags spared Delphin a last glance. A bitter taste invaded her mouth as the raven-haired boy dropped his gaze. How could her own District partner choose those people over her?

"You're right, we should go," she said, pulling herself together.

It was mid-afternoon, they were wasting precious time. She made sure nothing would fall off her two backpacks before setting after Constantine. She couldn't wait to leave this horror behind. She blessed the rebellion for having taught her how to handle the sight of violent death.

The aristocratic boy shortened his strides to let the two catch up. A resigned smile graced his lips.

"I wonder if the gamemakers' imagination could have conjured an arena as bleak as these ruins." He said, absently fastening the belt holding his newly acquired long-sword.

Mags scoffed at the irony in his tone. She finally took the time to process their surroundings. They train had derailed from a low twisting bridge which connected the two banks of a dry stream bed. Sand and gravel crunched under their feet but soon gave way to muddy earth of an unhealthy color, as if soaked by oil or some other chemical. Collapsed dwellings and factories littered the ground as far as the eye could see, which wasn't much farther than a mile. There was an opaque hue to the air that made Mags itch to hold her breath. What had happened here? She tensely pulled on the pair of gloves she had taken, wishing she had a full sterile suit.

"Wait!"

A lanky boy in his mid-teens had shouted to get their attention, wiping his sweaty long dark hair out of his face. His shredded suit was filthy with dirt and blood as he ran; cradling what seemed to be a broken wrist.

"I'm Gyan, I'm from here. I can help you. And I neither want to stay in this place waiting for help that won't come or go with the other crazy bunch."

"The sane young man over here blew up the train." Fife intervened, looking amused as she pointed at Constantine. The tall tribute's expression was an incredible mix of focus and boredom. He was strong and lean but not so physically intimidating. Mags wondered how he'd survived to see eighteen without being punched to death, his superior attitude was unbelievable.

The boy from Three chuckled. "I think you actually saved my life, Dude. I was literally stuck under a plate until that last explosion moved it. I heard engines but I was more concerned about getting out. Besides I saw you sneak the medicine. I'm betting you grabbed morphine or something in there." Gyan's hopeful smile devolved into a grimace of pain. "Where is everyone else gone by the way?" His lips began to tremble. "So many missing…. They can't all be dead. You haven't seen Comet, have you?"

Comet was the previous year's victor. The spry girl from Three had been the deadliest acrobat Mags had ever seen. Mags didn't meet Gyan's gaze, hoping the others would not feel the need to tell him how the most recent casualties had died. Or that their mentors had abandoned them. She didn't dare ask about his district partner.

"We saw two boys leave together," Fife said, "probably the Five boy with someone else."

"The Eleven female tribute is alive. She left alone." Constantine added, his piercing eyes lost in the distance.

Mags glanced back at the burning wrecked train. The dark-skinned decent-looking boy was still clutching his crushed leg. A pretty blonde in her mid-teens was knelt besides him, evidently offering comfort. They looked oddly at ease with each other for perfect strangers. Two other tributes, including the pale kid who had shouted at Vicuña, and who could not have been over fourteen, were hovering next to them, a lost look on their faces.

Mags clenched her fists in anger as a wave of heat assaulted her senses. Her green eyes burned from the smell of melting metal and charred flesh. The Capitol was not above organizing a second reaping to have their Games. She desperately hoped they would not decide to add some morbid twist and select the tribute's relatives instead. They could not touch Esperanza.

"If we find more supplies or a way out, we will come back for them," she vowed. The remaining tributes had enough for days if they were careful. Surely they would find a way to get to the Capitol.

The short-haired brunette wore a guarded expression. Constantine inclined his head in assent when Mags met his eyes, but he didn't say a word.

"Just don't light a fire." Gyan said, his voice thick with fear. "We got lucky we crashed on the old bridge," he let out a nervous giggle, "honest. This place has been a no man's land since the end of the rebellion. Since we'd found a way to scramble hovercrafts' and missiles' autopilot, the Capitol literally dropped thousands of chemical filled balloons on the whole sector. The air is slow poison, in some places not so slow…."

So Four's shores had not been the only region ravaged by the Capitol's vile weapons. Mags had never thought to witness such indiscriminate destruction. This had to have been one of Three's greatest cities, reduced to a deadly wasteland. This was like learning the Capitol had won all over again, the young woman felt weary to the bone.

Hunched over his wounded arm, Gyan was struggling to contain both his nervousness and pain. Mags forced her lips into a friendly smile. "Give him the medicine; we're lucky somebody knows the lay of the land."

Constantine sighed softly, brushing ash off his well-drawn eyebrows. "He also seems to have an even more pessimistic view of our survival chances, although the morphine will doubtless brighten his spirits."

"Dude, I'm counting on it."

Mags stared in mild amusement the handsome tribute. He had the same air of annoyance as her friend Dylana when she was forced to bring her little brother along on her nights out. Was Constantine being possessive? No, that was absurd. Maybe his ego hadn't been taught to handle a base-born kid knowing more than he did, even if this was Gyan's District.

Mags' lips twitched. Or maybe the rich boy was just sensitive about being called Dude.

But Constantine had chosen to follow them instead of his district partner, and that simple fact made Mags wary of judging him too early. She leaned on her five-foot long pike.

Gyan managed a strained grin when Fife finally found the much needed morphine pills.


	3. Ruins

«This place was where all the hardware was done. We had to move the hives next to the Spiral suburbs in the capital. My father says the city has become huger than any other in Panem. You literally need two whole days to walk from one edge to the other. The spiders don't like it so much since our jobs are often loud and mess with all their thinking. Isolation wasn't the first priority when we had to rebuild since we weren't sent any food until we met the quotas."

"Hives? The spiders?" Fife interrupted.

Gyan smiled wryly. "Spiders are those who live in the Web, they're the big brainiacs. We tech guys live and work in the Hives. But we're Monkeys, not Bees. Go figure."

The long-haired boy had been prattling on for the last two hours. He sounded a little high but his step was steady enough that Mags wasn't concerned. She only loosely focused on his words, her eyes on their surroundings. Strange smells assaulted her senses and, despite the thick make-shift scarf around her face, made her head spin dangerously. The stale stifling heat only increased her discomfort.

Some of the houses were almost intact but corroded by rust and aggressive chemicals. She glimpsed furniture behind one of the darkened windows, an open book on a table and even plush toys. People had left in a hurry.

"Will there be landmarks on our way to the Capitol, aside the sun and stars?" She said, feeling she was walking in fog. An unhealthy fog full of out-of-place wisps and hues. Her skin itched just by looking at it.

"We're close to the edge of the mountains, I think. We'll reach the plains if we keep going straight and it's cleaner there. No big lakes or anything. Can I have more morphine?"

"When we set camp. We need the supply of pills to last at least five days, and we're already hoping that no one other than you will need any. You have to deal with it," Mags said, not unkindly.

Gyan grimaced but didn't complain.

Constantine was walking silently next to them, looking like a portrait who'd been summoned into the world of the living. She wondered if they all looked so radically out of place amidst the desolate ruins, clad in their dirtied but still most elegant clothes -except for Fife in her dreadful avox uniform- but with scarves, rubber gloves, boots and bulging backpacks.

Whereas the aristocratic boy stood stiff, as if defying intangible enemies to come close, Fife was a flurry of little movements; tentative steps, furtive expressions and darted glances. She never stood at the exact same height or walked at exactly the same pace, as if she was terrified something would slip past her scrutiny.

Mags herself was tense as a nut, as if trying to take as little space as possible. The rubble groaned and creaked all around them, filling the air with low disquieting moans. Sometimes she thought she heard bubbling or the eerie hiss of venomous air drafts. She could do little but glare at the potential threats.

Gyan's rapid speech had given way to sulking and regular gasps of pain. Mags clenched her fists in annoyance. She had braved greater pain in silence at a younger age. There was really nothing more they could do for the suffering tribute except being sympathetic.

A prickling sensation made her hair rise on end. She turned, spotting a smoking pool of yellowish matter.

"Sulfur won't kill you straight away. Just no fire," Gyan muttered, looking utterly miserable.

Mags flashed him a small smile. "I'm sorry it hurts."

"I know."

"Are there people still living here?" Fife said, edging closer to Constantine.

Mags froze. She finally placed where her sense of disquiet came from. It was the feeling of foreign eyes spying your every move.

Gyan had paled. "Sca... Scavengers. Some say some people stayed here, because the Capitol wouldn't find them. Because they can be free."

Free? In this desolate hell?

"Then why didn't the Capitol blow up these ruins once and for all?" Constantine said. His face was somber, Mags couldn't tell if whose side he was on.

"Because then we could've rebuilt. We're not allowed here. It might be a lesson, I really don't know. People have tried to come for their belongings and literally burn everything in the hope the land will be healthy again one day, but it's forbidden."

Mags shut her eyes briefly, willing herself to keep calm. Rash anger rarely offered good solutions. Such was the evil of the Capitol that it would rather cripple productivity than allow District citizen to reclaim their homes and rebuild their city.

"If those 'scavengers' are more than a myth, what do they eat? Where do they safely sleep? Would they attack us?"

Constantine's urgent questions echoed her own. How could even the most hardened rebels live in such a place for nearly a decade? She eyed her surroundings critically.

"We can sleep in any of the erect houses, many look solid enough. We can't escape the fumes but we'll notice anyone coming close. Maybe tomorrow we'll think about what we have to do more clearly."

"Walking north-east does not require great intellect. Could you start one of the rusty vehicles we saw, Gyan?" Constantine said, glancing down at the smaller boy. Behind his aloof bearing, Mags could glimpse a light of desperation.

"No. I'm a future tech, not a frigging magic mechanic," the teen grumbled, his eyes reddened from pain and dust.

A whistle cut the air. Gyan yelped.

Fife gestured from inside a house, twenty yards away. Constantine turned around in shock, as if expecting the brunette to still be by their side. He reddened and swiftly walked away to join her.

"She was right behind me, when did she move?" Gyan whimpered, clutching his wounded arm harder.

Mags almost rolled her eyes. They were all tense and had been self-absorbed in their conversation; Fife slipping away for half a minute was neither astonishing nor a reason to have a stroke. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen, why?"

"We'll take care of you," She said with a small smile. "Don't let your mind play tricks. We have supplies and we know where we are going."

Gyan looked like he was about to be ill. He looked down, flushing slightly. "I can't think straight from the pain. I just need to knock myself out. Did you grab some alcohol? I'd be happy to literally forget today."

Mags chuckled. The idea had merit, but she doubted any amount of alcohol could erase the last hours. She forced her mind to concentrate on the present, on the sound of her boots on the ground, on the evening heat on her skin and her grumbling stomach. As long as she focused on what was happening and not what could happen, she would remain calm.

Constantine and Fife seemed to be locked in a staring game when Mags entered the house. The slightest of smiles graced their lips.

Mags shook her head slightly. "You look like two peacocks striving to impress the other into submission."

Constantine looked so scandalized by her comment that Mags failed to conceal a grin.

"I'm afraid he's a much prettier peacock than I am, Mags," Fife said, her black eyes sparkling. "This house looks as solid and clean as they get. The storage room over there has no windows. We could sleep there. Just careful with the bathroom, it looks like some cleaning products exploded a long time ago."

Mags smiled in approval and dropped her backpacks next to the others. It was high time they stopped to rest. Fife had been very silent except to ask Gyan the occasional question, but she seemed the opposite of shy. Mags found herself wanting nothing more than to sit down for dinner and get to know her traveling companions.

"Peacocks?" Constantine finally mouthed in wounded tones.

"Would you prefer eagles, Aquila?"

Mags' eyes widened at Fife's teasing tone. She had indeed stumbled on a power play. She wondered what either of them were trying to achieve.

The aristocratic boy leaned against the wall, his detached imperious expression back in place. "I would."

"What is your problem?" Mags said with curious frown.

Fife's face fell like a child denied candy. "What's the fun if we have to spell it out?"

Mags crouched next to the bags and pulled out some of the fruit she had taken. "We need to work together more than we need to become friends. You can't allow yourselves to get distracted. "

"What are we, soldiers on a mission?" Gyan said, curled up in a corner. He looked so pathetic that Fife threw him the morphine box. Mags kept her eyes on him to check he didn't swallow the whole supply. Yes, they were soldiers. They had to be to survive.

"I'm a volunteer, she is not," Constantine lazily explained, removing his rubber gloves.

"He came with us because of a hunch. It doesn't make sense."

"No rule dictates that I should favor a group of half-trained glory-hounds over a true soldier."

Mags met the aristocratic boy's intense brown eyes, touched by the compliment even if she wondered how soldierly she had truly been today. She wondered if her mother had heard of the Aquila family.

"You believe he is… shallow for volunteering, Fife?" Gyan cautiously said.

The short-haired girl didn't answer. She didn't look hostile, but simply as if she found the idea of volunteering absurd. She bit into an apple.

"Afraid to hurt my feelings?" Constantine challenged with raised eyebrows.

Mags repressed a sigh. They hadn't listened to a word she had said. Yet she didn't intervene. Maybe this was the semblance of normalcy they needed to function after the day's terrible events. She crouched next to Gyan, putting a comforting hand on his good shoulder. He gave her a weak smile.

"I believe you feel your life lacks luster and you want things to be great," Fife finally said, "and that volunteering was like blowing the train up. It felt brilliant on the moment."

"Why would my life lack luster?" Constantine said.

His guarded expression made Mags wish that Fife had kept silent. Conflict could tear their precarious alliance apart. She wasn't sure Constantine was above taking his supplies and leaving if he felt slighted. Unfortunately Mags was also plagued by a little voice that urged her to listen; after all she hardly knew who she was traveling with.

"Because your whole bearing shouts 'my high expectations aren't ever met' in a way that goes beyond what I'd expect of ultra posh upbringing," Fife said, eying him frankly. "How would the Games have possibly met them?"

Ultra posh upbringing? Mags winced. Someone wasn't mincing words...

Constantine removed his sword from its scabbard, his handsome features reflecting themselves on the polished blade. "Challenges show the strength there is in people."

"People who have had to be too strong are rarely happy." Fife said, her face now somber. "And challenges show just how much cowardice there can be in the world. You saw a soldier in Mags, yet you'd have had to kill her in the Games. Doesn't that bother you?"

"Enough!" Mags snapped. This was taking it too far. "We deal with the situation, not 'what ifs'."

"Fife is just trying to show us how clever and observant she is," Constantine said coolly.

A flash of anger entered Fife's eyes. She lowered her gaze and sat on the floor.

"Sorry." She finally muttered as she emptied her bag. "Take mine, Gyan. I'll sleep between two covers."

Luckily a bedroll was one of the few things Gyan had forgotten to take. The boy from Three had a glazed look and a small dopy smile on his face. Mags frowned at him. He was thin and light but not starving either. Maybe he was just sensitive to narcotics. He turned his eyes towards the brunette but didn't speak.

"I…"

"No, Constantine," Fife gently said. "It's warm and I've slept on roofs more times than I can count. You'll have many occasions to be gallant when it matters."

At least Fife didn't seem to hold grudges.

"Logical assumptions about Constantine being wealthy aside, what kind of family did you two grow in?" Mags wondered as she organized their bundled supplies in more neat piles.

"My father invests in promising undertakings. The Aquila name is an indicator of taste and quality. We have enough servants and property to be considered a prosperous family," Constantine said with unconcealed pride. "My mother oversees all peacekeeper deployment and activities in the Southern Sector."

Mags nodded slowly, her face carefully devoid of judgment. They sounded like a family who thrived under Capitol dominion. But family was family, and she couldn't condemn Constantine for taking pride in his. The more critical part of her hoped she wasn't finding him excuses because of his outlandish highbrow manners and all too handsome features.

"Did you train after the seventh Games or was it already part of your education?"

An indulgent smile graced Constantine's lips, but he didn't seem to be mocking her. "I knew how to wield a sword before the rebellion ended. An interesting life and a complete education begets more skills than dutifully attending training courses. The one advantage of the new center is the ready supply of opponents."

"Anyone good enough for the illustrious heir of House Aquila to be called your friend?" Fife said with a thoughtful expression.

Mags' eyes widened at her sheer nerve.

Constantine gazed down at the boyish girl. "Yes, but it isn't training skills that make a person worthy."

"Well spoken." Mags approved.

"I don't ask nosy questions to make him look bad just because he gets more birthday presents that I do, that would be childish. See, with one answer he won ten respect points," Fife said with a smug grin. She sobered slightly. "Should one of us stay awake?"

Mags shook her head. "No. No guard turns. It's pointless in the dark. I'll bar the door both the front door and this one. I will wake if a window is broken."

"Dude, you know your stuff," Gyan said, nodding in drowsy appreciation. "Just keep the ants off our stuff."

Fife cracked a smile. "Sleep before your arm starts hurting again."

Mags eyes swept the ground. She doubted even creatures as resilient as ants had to be common in these hellish ruins.

"We should beat our clothes before the dust sticks." She added, shooting the now curled up boy an apologetic glance. She didn't want to riddle their sleeping bags with more filth that necessary.

"I will not comment if you ladies disrobe to sleep," Constantine said with a small mischievous smile.

Fife coughed.

Mags grinned at him. "Another time, Handsome. We might need to run at a moment's notice."

Mags sat up before her eyes had opened.

"It's okay," Gyan whispered. "I just really need to pee. I'll be careful."

She let her head fall back against her scarf, uncomfortable from the dry heat, but sleep had learned to come when she asked.

_She is standing on a rolling coral chariot in her azure dress, a puffed-up Delphin trying to look impressive by her side. Her eyes are fixed on the coliseum track where other chariots are trailing hers, one after the other. She ignores the sand that whips her face, accustomed to strong winds._

_A cracking voice pierces through the clamor "Synthra, what's wrong?"_

_An agitated curly-haired boy fails to grab his staggering district partner. The girl loses her balance. Mags watches in silent horror as she collapses on the beaten track._

_The young teen who'd screamed wildly gestures at the chariot behind him. "Move!"_

_The crowd's gasps and laughter soon swallow any other noise. The wheat-colored chariot barely avoids the stunned girl. Mags stiffly stands still, her heart racing. She cannot afford to play the hero for a condemned tribute. The Capitol mustn't be allowed to see her as a threat._

_Her eyes dart to the sides, hoping against hope that the Capitol will send assistance. Instead, she sees a colorful figure topple from the penultimate chariot. The vehicle moves out of the track and comes to an abrupt stop. A dark-skinned young man with a fierce expression holding the reins._

_He jumps to the ground, hurrying to cradle the pretty blond girl in his arms._

_Ignoring the moaning chariot-driver on the ground, his grinning district partner helps the two back up and flicks the reins. The chariot speeds off again. The Capitol isn't laughing anymore._

Mags shifted, half-asleep, annoyed even her dreams brought her back to the Capitol and that now the sight of the tributes had given her mind further fodder to disturb her sleep. Those dreams had been frequent ever since she had decided to volunteer, but she deeply missed her mother's dark eyes and confident smile. She wished the night would soothe her instead of exacerbating her fears.

An alarming detail pierced through her early morning haze.

She hadn't heard Gyan come back in.


	4. Sewers

Mags POV

Mags bolted to her feet. Dawn light was filtering through the ajar door. She pulled her boots on and grabbed her pike. Except for the now stirring Fife and Constantine, the creaking house seemed deserted.

"I'm going to the bathroom to check on Gyan. He went there when it was still dark. I hope he fell asleep in it." She said, running a hand through her golden-brown hair to remove the heavy dust.

The stench of mold and rancid water mixed with chemicals made her wish she had taken her scarf. She gasped. The boy was lying limp, his cheek resting on the corroded bathtub's edge and one of his hands in the filthy water.

Mags grabbed his head, horrified to see drops of water on his lips.

What had possessed him to drink it?

She kicked something light. The pack of morphine was half empty at his feet.

Constantine grabbed her shoulders. "He committed suicide?" he muttered, pulling her away from the corpse.

Mags was shaking with shock and fury. "He took too much. We didn't supervise him enough! He spoke of ants. He was already hallucinating before and we didn't pay attention! There was no light, he just felt water and drank."

"What an idiot," Fife said, still in the corridor, her voice the barest whisper. "We need to get out of here."

"We cannot leave the body to dust and decay."

"Then wrap him in a cover, say a eulogy and collapse a wall over him, Constantine!"

Fife put her face in her hands. "Sorry," she whispered after a few seconds, her voice calmer. "I'll get the supplies."

The brunette was the only one crying openly. Mags face was tight, but she had lost too many people to grieve for a virtual stranger. Bitter disappointment darkened her features. She should have paid attention.

"Gyan told us everything he knew about this place. He had outlived his usefulness within nightfall. Today we do not mourn a productive member of our team, but an innocent and cheerful boy who was overwhelmed by terrible odds."

The two seventeen year olds gaped at Constantine in sheer disbelief.

"For someone raised to keep appearances, you can be brutally honest," Mags said. She nevertheless agreed that mourning a human being sounded less selfish than cursing the loss of a source of information.

Fife laughed, a nervous hysterical laugh. "That was literally a moronic death, Dude," she whispered.

Mags clasped the short girl's shoulder. She wouldn't make the same mistake twice. "Do you trust yourself, Fife, or do you want us to monitor you until you feel better?"

Fife chuckled again, clutching Mags in a brief hug. "Let's just get away from the dead. I'd run the stress off, but here it's suicide. Just treat me normally. It's not the first fresh corpse I see, I'll get over it."

Mags frowned at the revelation, realizing Fife had avoided questions about her home life the night before. This was not the time to ask.

The walked in silence, staying close. The young woman from Four couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched.

"If we do not want children to grow up seeing corpses, the Capitol rule must endure," Constantine said after what seemed an age, as if muttering to himself.

Mags' felt her temper flare. How dare he even consider accepting the Capitol's travesty of 'peace'! "People die every day in the Districts because Peacekeepers can deliver punishments unchecked."

"Beatings are much more frequent than executions."

"Because seeing your loved ones thrashed bloody is so much less traumatizing than seeing a stranger shot!" Mags snapped back sarcastically.

"There would be many fewer beatings if people followed Capitol law."

Mags blood boiled at the rationale. "You fought for the Capitol didn't you?"

"I was too young to fight."

"Funny that, I was not."

Constantine raised his chin defensively. "I hadn't reached the age where I could make my own decisions. I did as I was told and was proud to. I was a child."

"But now you are old enough to choose."

The aristocratic boy looked very conflicted. "Peace comes at the price of submission. Rebellion is a terrible gamble. Either all rebel and endure massive bloodshed in the hope of success, or few dare to speak out at any given time, and children will grow having nightmares of their parent's whipped bodies. A cruel stalemate, which is in the Capitol's favor."

Mags shivered at having such terrible thoughts voiced out loud. A rebellion that would never come…. He anger fled as she acknowledged the frightening truth in the boy's words. Her voice was gentle again. "It's about what you feel is right, Constantine. You can't predict how people will react, or if what you will truly make a difference, but you can feel proud of the way you live your life day to day."

Constantine looked away, his grasp over his feelings slipping. "I cannot take pride in pointless action simply because it feels noble! The price is too high," he said, his lips twisting in a snarl. "That boy was nothing special. He was destined to die as soon as his name was drawn. I will not remember him for who he was. I never cared for him. I never knew him. I will remember him because he surprised me by dying on us!"

Mags felt her heart constrict at the passion in Constantine's words. Maybe Fife had been right about his quest for greatness. He wasn't cold but a shaken man who struggled to find a cause.

"You capture a room's attention just by existing, Constantine," Mags honestly said. "The rebellion needs leaders, and people like you can be what they need. They would follow you."

The handsome boy straightened. His expression was distant once more, but Mags could see her words had been heard.

"It was warmer yesterday, no?" Fife said, looking much better.

That she had just interrupted them to talk about the weather was nevertheless suspicious.

Mags lifted her eyes and felt a shiver run unbidden up her spine. The blue sky of the day before had given way to menacing dark clouds. Mags had never forgotten what true fear felt like. The fear when confronted to a force so much greater than you that all your efforts seemed a pathetic attempt at delaying the inevitable. That long buried feeling was slowly resurfacing.

"We need to go underground. The rain falling will be poison. It will mix with all the filth we have here. We need to find sewers."

"Isn't that were all the water will go?"

"People used the sewers in every district during the rebellion," Mags said, paying extreme attention to the girl.

Fife failed to conceal her surprise quickly enough. Mags decided not to make hasty judgments, but evidently Fife had been shielded from the rebel action and her parents had either not been rebels or chosen not to share that aspect of their lives with her.

"They're wide enough for people to walk while staying mostly clean. The boots should be enough protection," She added.

"The rubber gloves might have been for the avoxes but rubber boots aren't adapted to most arenas. There were barely more pairs of boots than tributes. Do you think everyone would have found a pair the right size for them?"

Fife's words made Mags frown.

"You think they measured our feet somehow, to send us straight to the arena this year? The Capitol had seemed thrilled by the parade and the interview night last year…" Mags said, unsure.

"Could they be watching us right now? What are the limits of Capitol technology?" Fife said, suddenly meek as a mouse despite the intelligence sparkling in her black eyes.

"I don't know." Mags admitted, aching for directions, for anything to reassure them they weren't already doomed.

"I believe this is an entry." Constantine said, anger evident on his features. His eyes were critically sweeping over the mass of what had once been a modest house.

"I'll see if there are tools, those big buildings may have been factories," The brunette said. "I'll whistle every minute unless there's a problem."

Fife vanished, twisting like a snake between collapsed beams. Mags found herself holding her breath, exhaling only when the low whistles resounded in the silent ruins. Soon the two waiting tributes heard clanking amidst the whistles. The short girl returned with a bucket full of odd tools and metallic junk, wiping dust off her face with a free hand. She grinned. Mags felt her face instinctively respond. Fife was secretive, but Mags was inordinately relieved to have such competent company.

Mags was astonished to see Constantine elegantly presented his gloved hand to Fife, palm turned upwards. The brunette arched her eyebrows but picked a handful of wires from the battered bucket and handed them over. The aristocratic young man shot them a look that could only have been described as mischievous before fitting a thick wire in the lock. Her jaw almost dropped as she heard the lock click.

"Where does the heir of a reputable house like yours learn to pick locks?" She said, eying him strangely. She didn't know what to believe anymore. Fife's mouth had split into a wide appreciative grin. Mags had never seen her look so amused. At least the two seemed to be getting along reasonably well.

Constantine's eyes were far away.

Constantine POV

_Cereus was already waiting for him in the deserted side-street, a large bag slung across his shoulder. His relaxed posture was a sure indication that something was afoot. The fourteen year old had a brittle alertness to him when he wasn't preoccupied. Apprehension and excitement warred for dominance with every step Constantine took. Cereus was not predictable for never seemed constrained by the boundaries that limited others' actions._

_The cloth bag moved._

_Constantine arched an eyebrow at his best friend._

_«It's Leo, » Cereus whispered, a righteous cast to his features. « You know, the child. »_

_Constantine's lips twitched, awe making his aristocratic features soften. Other people were disappointing, so petty and limited. Kind people predictably turned to cowards when faced with decisions which threatened their miserable mundane lives. They were weaklings who secretly craved power and turned to superficial morals to feel superior. Cereus had none of those faults. He followed what his conscience dictated, no matter the risks. He was a good person, maybe the only one Constantine knew._

_Two week before, childish wails of pain had interrupted their stroll on De Medeci Avenue._

_Where others would have hushed their fledgling conscience by mourning the cruelty of the world, Cereus had not forgotten. Constantine deeply regretted having missed the sight of his friend swooping in like a guardian angel and, mindless of consequences, kidnapping the abused child._

_« What are you going to do with him? »_

_« I've found a good family. Hurry, they'll have peacekeepers on our tracks soon. »_

_He was pointing at the sewer outlet on the side._

_Constantine paused, his thin lips twisting in disgust. « Through the sewers ? »_

_« Leo has more scars than those careless self-styled Careers. He can't stay and we can't be seen. »_

_Constantine straightened. Adrenaline flowed through his veins as the prospect of giving the stolen child to a deserving family. Only fools and cowards claimed that nobility and adventure were a thing of tales. He had been born for moments like these._

_He lifted the heavy metal disc and jumped down, soaking his varnished expensive shoes in filthy water. He'd have to give Coraline a suitable excuse. His governess was a mere servant, a gullible one who worshiped him, but she remained deserving of his affection and respect. Cereus gently lowered the wide-eyed silent child down and handed the other boy a set of lock-picks. The large sewer canals were blocked by twin locked steel gate._

_"I've bought a map. Rebels used these all the time." Cereus' lips twitched. "I'll buy you a drink if you open the door first. »_

_Bought a map of the sewers. As if it was of no more concern than buying new clothes._

_Constantine chuckled, accepting the challenge. Cereus gave a whole new dimension to existence._

The aristocratic boy locked the sewer door behind them. His two companions were still eying him expectantly.

"Coraline told me stories when I was a toddler. Maybe we will sleep more fitfully if we share tales tonight."

Mags was very comely when she wore that soft expression. It was almost as if she wanted to apologize. Constantine straightened with polished elegance, not letting his satisfaction show.

"Brilliant," Fife said. "Don't worry, we won't get lost." Her lips twitched. "I won't at least, so don't lose me. Let's go."

"Set the torchlights on minimum," Mags instructed.

Yes, Ma'am. Constantine found it often difficult to remember the girl from Four was younger than he was. It seemed nothing could distract her from her goal. She never failed to keep them, with a stern word or by constructive action, from getting sucked by the horror of their situation. He doubted many of the girls he knew would keep their dignity, let alone their authority, in such mismatched attire, although the azure dress hugged Mag's feminine form quite pleasantly, not that he'd ever be so crass as to be caught watching.

He turned back to Fife, who was much less charming in her carefully soot-covered avox uniform but who had proven there was more to her than a plain figure. He kept his voice low despite the rumble of running water. "Is your sense of orientation an innate talent?"

"I have spent over half my life on the city streets."

Constantine frowned in interest, he liked the unexpected. "Aren't most of Nine's workers machine operators? What kind of job would have you in the streets?"

Fife smiled thinly. "Few people choose the streets. I render what services I can. Some of us inherit the responsibility of financial empires, Aquila, but others have to build their own lives brick by brick, from scratch."

Constantine straightened defensively; angered that all would presume to know how he would live his life. His father could never find out how skeptical his heir was about following his footsteps. While Constantine never tired of listening to his father narrate his masterful political achievements, he hated trivial concerns like managing wealth and lost his appetite just at the thought of wasting his days ingratiating himself to the insipid arrogant men who fancied themselves One's elite.

"You do not speak like a street urchin," He coolly pointed out.

Fife's thin smile grew but failed to reach her eyes. "I do hope not. I was raised by literate people. Life is full of surprises and situations change."

Constantine grew silent, searching for a sensitive way to inquire further. Had she been recently orphaned?

"Can you two settle your issues when we're in a safer place?" Mags said, a hand on her hip.

Constantine met her striking green eyes and granted her a nod. She was right, as usual.

He spared Fife a last glance, highly irritated by her curious expression. An expression directed at the winding tunnels and swirling waters, not at him. Mags was beautiful but Fife was plain and poor, surely she was not used to have men of his caliber express interest in her, and yet the short brunette made Constantine feel he had to beg for information. It was highly irritating. He hated being ignored.

Soon he felt a hand squeeze his arm. "I'm not as compelling as you are, but would you'd trust me with the real reason you volunteered?"

Fife's testy expression drew a small smirk from Constantine. Wasn't she stubborn. "Just memorize the paths we're taking."

He decided he preferred a challenge over an uninteresting ally any day. There was no urgency, Fife was not the kind of girl he would risk losing his head over. She was simply a puzzle that had sparked his interest.

Mags sighed. Constantine's eyes widened innocently.

Their beautiful leader just grinned. "Don't exhaust each other with your mind games. We have a long way to go."

Constantine didn't deign to answer despite the twitch to his lips. Mags' smile was a warm sight but he resented being called immature, no matter how charmingly.


End file.
